Prime Directive
by Clom
Summary: Primes are the biological goldmine for any scientist lucky enough to get their hands on them, but due to their rarity, that's not likely to happen. Especially considering Primes are being hunted for breeding. And of course there are secrets. Alpha/Omega AU
1. Chapter 1

**(A/N: HELLO READERS! This be my second account for less … sanitary writings that met my fancy. If you know me as Raxi, I welcome you. If you have no idea who that is, that's good too. Welcome to Clom, sister planet to Raxicoriocofallapatorius. There is nothing under M on this account and that is the way it will remain. :) Thank you for giving it a shot and I really hope you like it.**

**Warning. This is my first M fic although such ideas have been swimming around my head for a while. It probably will only be good through osmosis [as in from reading other peoples good bits] if it's good at all. Let it also be known that I am in no way British or a Linguist so if I get anything wrong, do tell me. Now I won't bore you much longer, so enjoy the first look into the mind of Clom. :3)**

"No one is really sure how the Omega Primes do it. The biology of it is unexplainable and, despite the advances in technology today, very little is actually understood. Basic observation has led us to believe that Omega Primes are the evolutionary result of a deep desire or need to procreate, with or without the aid of Alphas or Alpha Primes.

"The normal Omega differs from the Omega Prime in multiple ways. Firstly, while Omegas can be impregnated by both Alphas and Betas, the fertility rate drops exponentially when it is a Beta. Also, while Omegas are more likely to have multiples, their litters very rarely exceed five. And finally, Omegas carry their litter to full term, like a female Beta would."

John bit back a yawn as the professor droned on and on about the mystery of the Omega Prime. He already knew as much as he could about the Alpha/Beta/Omega differences from independent studies, but the course was required to get his doctorate and _RateMyProfessor_ said that this one assigned the least amount of homework, so John signed up anyways.

And it just confounds him as to why they spend a whole lecture just talking about the Primes. The statistical probability of coming across an Alpha Prime, much less an Omega Prime, was something like 1 in 2.6 million for London, 1 in 33 billion for the whole of the UK, and nigh on impossible in Basildon. But apparently the anomaly of the Primes was just interesting and mysterious enough to dedicate a whole two hours of lecturing to it.

"Alpha Primes, however, are the only ones who can cause the Omega Primes to layer-conceive. Layer-conceiving is when coitus is practiced multiple times over a period of two months and results in several litters at once, each with a different due date. The trick to layer-conceiving is that initially the Alpha Prime has to be in rut and Omega Prime has to be in heat. _And _the Omega Prime must be successfully impregnated during the heat for the uterus to remain capable of further fertilization."

The professor seemed to be picking up speed now, even pulling out diagrams and primary sources depicting the miracle of layer-conceiving. John took the moment to let his head drop to the desk with a solid thunk. The university was well known for its obstetricians, which is what drew John to it in the first place, but they put out some top notch surgeons as well. And with the military now funding his classes, John switched his major to the latter. But that didn't stop him from milking as many classes as he could.

Unfortunately this was John's last semester here in Basildon. About a month into his stay that the university, John decided that Saint Bartholomew's was probably the best place to intern and John just couldn't fund daily trips back and forth, so he chose to transfer. Thankfully they happily accepted him and John was going to move to London in the summer.

"The biggest mystery of the Omega Prime is the accelerated pregnancy. Not only is the full term differ between each birth, but there are also moments in which the Alpha Prime can induce "swelling", a phenomenon that causes the fetus, or more likely fetuses, to rapidly grow for an indeterminate amount of time. It is not known what conditions allow for swelling or what determines how much the fetuses grow during the act and with so few known Primes, no tests have been conducted."

John was actually looking forward to the move, although he'd have to transfer his prescription to a pharmacy in the city. Even then he shouldn't need a refill for a few more months. He had been on suppressants now for about two years, popping one small pill each morning after breakfast. The military required for all Alphas and Omegas to use suppressants while on active duty to minimalize accidents and pregnancies, a law that was put in place after the first suppressants were released just after World War 1. After a few years, the military realised that introducing the drug to the recruits' systems prior to deployment allowed for the body to adjust to the pharmaceutical and the person to add the pill to their daily routine.

"Thanks to modern contraceptives and suppressants, the likelihood of locating a Prime is very low, although it is easier to locate Omega Primes once they are pregnant." Finally stopping long enough to glance at the clock, the professor noticed that he had run over his allotted period by about five minutes. "That's all for today. Class dismissed. See you all next week."

John practically leapt from his seat, hastily snatching up his notebook and pens before dashing out the door. He was planning to go scope out some flats in London that weekend and needed to pack for the trip. Finding a flat close to St. Bart's will be difficult, especially considering his almost nonexistent budget, but was a necessity. Perhaps the military could aid him in this aspect as well.

Deciding to fight for Queen and Country probably was one of the best decisions he's made so far in his life.

* * *

"PISS OFF MYCROFT!" Sherlock shouted as he slammed the door shut behind him. Without pausing, he continued about the room, pulling and throwing all the books from his shelves. He then ripped out all three cameras that his search revealed, dropped them to the ground, and crushed them underfoot. Chest heaving, Sherlock stomped over to his bedroom door once more and yanked it open.

"AND STOP BUGGING MY ROOM!" he added before closing again, this time hard enough to shake the pictures adjourning the hall.

Stepping over the books and papers that now covered the hardwood floor, Sherlock reached his bed, which was surprisingly neat considering the chaos of the room, and promptly flopped down onto its surface. He had a lot to think over, as much had occurred in just the last few hours. Had it really been so little time for everything to change so much?

Sherlock had come home from school, his last day of sixth form before having to take his A-levels, when bloody _Mycroft _announced that their father had decided to send him to a military run university to "train the rebellion out of Sherlock". This obviously led to a loud discussion between Sherlock and Mycroft, more like a yelling match with no listening, which ended with Sherlock doing the unthinkable: interrupting Father during working hours.

William Scott Holmes was by no means a bad father. He was simply a busy one. After his wife Mariela passed, William remained as involved with his children as he would have been beforehand. He made an effort to appear at all the school related gatherings, rehearsals and plays and the like, and certainly carried conversation during dinner, but still kept his work high on the priority list. This meant an empty table in the morning and at lunch with quiet evenings, excluding holidays.

At one point Mycroft questioned his decision to allow the two of them so much freedom. William almost instantly reassured that he felt that Mycroft and Sherlock were both intelligent and capable enough to handle themselves and that if they ever do need help or advice that he would happily give it to them. Outside of working hours, most especially 2-4 in the afternoon and just after tea.

So roundabout 3:30 in the afternoon, Sherlock barged into the library and sped his way over to his father's office. He paused there, just for a moment, before shaking his head slightly and knocking once then simply barging in.

His father was seated at a large wooden desk, a portrait of his mother hanging just behind him. When Sherlock entered, William Scott Holmes stopped midsentence, freezing momentarily, before clearing his throat and sighing.

"I apologize, Haidar, but I shall have to call you back," he spoke calmly into the phone he held at his ear. "Another matter has arisen that needs my immediate attention. Ila-liqaa'." With that, William put the back phone back on the hook, tugging at the cord to ensure it wasn't tangled. He did not speak, only softly hummed to himself whilst shuffling about papers. William continued on as if Sherlock wasn't even standing in the room.

Finally Sherlock couldn't take the growing tension. "Is it true, what Mycroft said?" he blurted, clenching his hands at his side.

William sniffed a bit and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap and looking up at Sherlock for first time since hanging up the phone. And remained silent.

"Are you sending me to a ... a _military_ school?!" Sherlock continued, waving his hand as he stuttered over the accusation.

William sighed heavily, tilting his head back slightly. "I warned Mycroft not to tell you of the decision till all the papers were finalized," he muttered. Sherlock froze at the condemning statement. "How will that boy ever get far into politics if he doesn't know when to hold his tongue?"

Sherlock slammed his hands on William's desk. "What have I done to deserve this _abandonment _to such a facility?!" he demanded.

"What have you done?" William repeated softly. "Well let's begin with the skipping classes. Or maybe we could talk about your sneaking out at night. Perhaps we should mention your _smoking habit!_" Sherlock flinched slightly at each word, but held his father's gaze. "Son," William sighed, "you're throwing your life away. You're wasting time that could be used to better your talents and hone your skills to mess around with a bunch of delinquents and ignore your studies."

Sherlock frowned. "My friends aren't delinquents."

"Friends?" William laughed harshly. "These fools aren't your friends. They don't like you. They don't think you're clever. They find you annoying and rude."

Sherlock's eyes grew wide with each accusation. It couldn't be true. It just couldn't. But the seed of doubt had been buried and thinking back Sherlock began to see tightness around their eyes that indicated irritation, the clenched fists, and the fake smiles.

"Sherlock. You have a gift. Your deductions are extraordinary and deserve that sort of recognition," William said, laying his hand on his son's shoulder. While he was talking he had stood and walked around the desk. "I am sending you to this school for your betterment. You won't go far if you keep acting out. It is what is best."

Sherlock took a step back, shrugging his father's hand off his shoulder. He didn't say anything, he didn't need to. His eyes looked his father up and down and saw all he needed to see. There was nothing Sherlock could say that would change William's mind. There was nothing Sherlock could do to avoid this imprisonment. He ran from the room.

Out in the hallway Mycroft stood, hands folded behind his back. "I told you not to bother him, brother."

Sherlock felt the despair that had settled in his chest quickly boil into the rage that left Sherlock staring at the perfectly painted ceiling above his bed.

Turning and punching his pillow, Sherlock swallowed the bitter tears that threatened to escape. Tomorrow he would begin taking suppressants, a requirement of the university. At the moment, Sherlock had no control over his enrollment. His father had signed the papers and until he graduated, Sherlock was stuck there.

Unless he got expelled…

**(A/N: Hi, me again. I'm sorry if this bored you. It actually has a bit more plot than I was anticipating, but I think that's a pretty good way to go about my first time [even if it's horribly cliché and overused]. :) Anyways, the idea for this particular biology is mostly due to two stories: **_**Built for it **_**(original or Lolita mix)****and**_** The Baker Street Dozen **_**(don't see all of it here, it will come later into play)**_**.**_** They're on AO3 at the very least, so if this interests you a bit, you might like those as well. *shrugs* Do what you do. It's your life.**

**Anyways, thanks for reading, I congratulate you on getting this far honestly, and I hope you read the next chapter. :) Review if you'd like. Thanks.)**


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock frowned at the, now, burnt ceiling of his dorm room. So far he had antagonized each teacher, student, and janitor on campus. Within two minutes of meeting his roommate, he had sent the poor sod running out red faced and towing his still-packed bags behind him. Sherlock had smoked everywhere he could possibly think of: classrooms, hallways, bathrooms, dorm rooms, and even the bloody roof. He had stopped showing up to classes after the third day. He had just _purposefully _blown up an experiment to damage the room itself.

And all he got were demerits that led to detentions that he didn't even go to. Yet no other disciplinary actions were taken.

Sherlock couldn't fathom what caused the lack of repercussions, but obviously he had to do something more drastic. The next logical step was drugs. Getting the cigarettes on campus is difficult enough. Sherlock had to remember to ask his supplier when he saw him next. Sherlock spent the following hours contemplating the choices and deciding which ones would least affect his intellect.

His last thought before falling asleep was, _At least thinking of ways to break the rules is entertaining._

* * *

Five months, three weeks, two days, and forty-five minutes later Sherlock realised that he wasn't going anywhere. He had begun the drug "habit" two months prior and, despite showing up to meals and classes and assemblies and tests higher than a flying jet, had yet to meet any sort of punishment. The very fact that he put so much effort in to receive no response was irritating beyond belief.

After talking with his cigarette dealer, Sherlock was directed to someone in the nearby town. Unfortunately, he had to wait before being able to see the man because the next free weekend wasn't till the next month. And then of course it took a great deal of work to figure what Sherlock was going to take, especially considering he didn't want to damage his brain or inhibit its functions, and how to get it on campus. The latter became the larger issue as the school took care to screen all incoming packages and items brought onto the grounds.

Enlisting the help of a few homeless children quickly solved that problem. Sherlock had run into a small child who tried, and failed, to lift his wallet unnoticed. The poor thing had burst into tears the second Sherlock confirmed their guilt, but instead of reporting them to the coppers, he had instead asked to speak to their friends. Eventually he made his way to the leader of the small pack of children, a teenager aged about fourteen who preferred the name Shezza. Sherlock instantly saw potential and struck up a business deal involving the smuggling of drugs onto school grounds as well as information gathering.

In any case, Sherlock was now feeling the effects of cocaine, his current favorite, and rage as he _finally _realised why he hadn't been expelled yet.

"Mycroft."

* * *

The elder Holmes listened as his little brother ranted endlessly. Mycroft had received a call about five minutes ago with the assurance that it was urgent. Sighing with deep regret, he agreed to take it. And regret he did.

"_You _utter _arsehole!_" The first exclamation almost blew out Mycroft's eardrums. "_You know I don't want to be here and yet you _ensure_ that I remain?" _Sherlock was beyond furious. Anger had always been a strong emotion for Sherlock, even when he grew older, but this was a level he hadn't reached before. Mycroft suspected that his brother's recent drug habit was to blame. "_Everyone here is an idiot and these damned pills are making me nauseous."_

"Well if you didn't try and mix them with a daily dose of benzoylmethylecgonine..." Mycroft had allowed the statement to hang, open ended. "And how do you know that they're _all _idiots? You never attend class." From there Sherlock yelled in his ear for several minutes. Throughout the entire exchange, Mycroft made sure to keep his voice even and polite. Despite it technically being a personal, it was indeed a matter of urgency and so any way to ensure the continuation of the conversation was used.

"_Mycroft!" _Sherlock snapped. "_I need to be expelled! My brain is rotting from disuse. I have run out of options. You need to release the dean from whatever trap you have put him in and allow the man to _punish me!"

Mycroft gave a soft chuckle. "Brother dear, if you were paying any attention, you would know that the dean is female." Sherlock made an aggravated noise. "But perhaps I should, you are sounding more and more like the commonwealth."

Sherlock practically growled. "_Mycroft. There is nothing at this school that interests me._" Mycroft fought the urge to smile. Now they were getting to the crux of the issue. "_All of the classes are military, politics, or business. Nothing for science like chemistry or forensics._"

"I'm almost positive that they have a bomb squad introductory course," Mycroft began, allowing a small smirk. "There's bound to be _some _chemistry involved in that."

"_For God's sake,_" Sherlock muttered. Mycroft could hear Sherlock's breathing grow faint as the receiver moved away from his mouth.

"Oh, fine!" Mycroft called out, grabbing Sherlock's attention once more. "What school would you prefer?"

"_I honestly don't care,_" Sherlock retorted. "_Just as long as it has an applicable science programme and both chemistry and forensics class." _A small pause. "_And the teachers can't be boring. I'd request that neither they nor the students were idiots, but I don't think even Father could manage that." _

Mycroft mulled it over for a moment. Letting Sherlock get expelled was the easy part. William Scott Holmes, on the other hand, was just about as stubborn as Sherlock, if not more so. He _could _possibly sway Father's thoughts on the matter, given enough material to work with. "I'll try, but you have to promise to remain on the suppressants. And you must agree to cease your self-medication and attend rehabilitation to remedy your drug problem."

There was a long pause and Mycroft almost believed he had lost when Sherlock muttered, "_Fine. And I do not have a drug _problem," before hanging up.

Sighing, Mycroft lowered the receiver onto the base and handed it back to his most recent assistant. So far not one has lasted more than a month, apparently the workload was overstressing, but this one seemed to be handling herself well. She took it with a small nod of the head and walked away. Mycroft watched her go. _Yes, very well indeed…_

Focusing back on the matter at hand, Mycroft frowned. Convincing Sherlock had been the easy part. Getting Father to agree was going to be difficult.

**(A/N: So this be the second chapter. I like to write so I shall, no matter what the response is. Still. It was a nice response. :) Thank you to all who reviewed and I hope to hear from all of you again. :) I'm not sure if you've reviewed on anything else myself or Raxi has written, but we always do our best to respond. If you're a guest, we answer in the ending author's note of the next chapter. This is a great big pain in the ass for oneshots. Anyways, review if you wanna, but it would be much appreciated.**

**NOTE: benzoylmethylecgonine is the chemical name for cocaine. I learnt it on google.) **


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